


Where the love light gleams

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dropping the packets on the floor outside the door of their apartment he stops for a minute, trying to calm his breathing, before raising his gloved finger to ring the bell of <em>their home</em>.</p><p>He’s here. And it’s happening.</p><p>Enjolras comes back home for Christmas to surprise his friends and <em>Grantaire</em>, only to find that things aren't exactly going according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the love light gleams

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from *hold on tightly to your seats, this is going to be SO unpredictable* I'll be home for Christmas. Yes I know, this is just another sickfic in the series of the numerous ones I've written, I know this is only pure fluff with no plot or meaning whatsoever BUT please bare with me and the quality of my writing because today I'm miserably sick and horrible too, and it made me feel better.  
> Opinions and feedback are always more than welcome!

He’s doesn’t stop dreaming of this place back home from the very moment he gets hold of his tickets, deciding to let it be a surprise for all of them. He had to try hard to not let everything show as he speaks on Skype or on the phone with his friends and most of all with _him,_ because he’s always been so bad in keeping secrets of any kind, the eternal sworn truther that he is. And now he’s driving home from the train station humming absently the Christmas tunes of the radio that once used to annoy him, exhausted and still in his work suit, the car full of suitcases and packets of presents. The skies are dark and foggy, and thick white snowflakes are dancing their way to the windows of his car after so many snowless Christmas Eves. He still can’t stop dreaming about it even though he’s less than half an hour away from home, he can’t stop dreaming of their familiar faces and smiles, of hugging with his childhood friends and never letting them go even though he hardly ever was the emotional one. He can’t stop imagining the surprise on their faces, their laughter, the songs and the Christmas sweets he never really cared of in the past. Now everything’s different, now all he wishes is to embrace all of it gratefully and suck in every sentiment of warmth and friendship and family until he has to leave again. But most of all he can’t stop dreaming of _him,_ of seeing his face again and cupping it in his hands and pulling him to a hungry, passionate kiss, of holding him in his arms and feeling the warmth of his body, feeling him _real_ and next to him even for a minute, smelling the familiar scent of alcohol and smoke and paint he had once hated and become frustrated by but now adored with every fiber of his being. And then they’d touch each other, they’d never stop touching each other like there was no tomorrow, they’d lie together in bed – _their bed-_ and make love, tender and needy and wild, to feel that this was real, that things were once again like they should be.

Keeping a long distance relationship couldn’t have been an easier decision to make. They had been together for almost two years when it happened and Enjolras was given the opportunity to finally be active and make some change in the world, even if it meant moving hours away from home to work, and Grantaire had just found a steady job in an art gallery and he was getting better and better every day, his bitterness and the darkness that shadowed his wonderful traits steadily disappearing. No matter how hard it was from Grantaire to part with him, he would never stay a burden between Enjolras and his dreams, even though most of them now involved him in them, but they both knew that it would be over in fourteen months and then they’d be together again. It _had_ been an easy decision to make, staying together because after all those months of arguing and mocking and fighting, of being oblivious and heartbroken, or trying to stay away from each other, and always ending up in each other's beds and each other's hearts, unable to not succumb in their feelings, it was impossible to truly part from each other. Yet it was harder to get through this when the plan was actually set into action. They missed each other terribly, being unable to touch and to smell and to kiss, to wake up together every morning was a torment and sharing blurry minutes of broken voices with bad Wi-Fi connections hardly made up for the suffering. Enjolras was at least busy and occupied with his job, when for Grantaire it wasn’t always that easy. He didn’t always feel equally successful to his hard working lover and art didn’t always come as breathing to him. There had been small fights and a big one which had completely torn Enjolras apart, all caused due to the distance but they had ten more months to go and they knew that they would try, and somewhere deep inside they also knew that they would make it.

Enjolras had been able to visit once during the past four months, and an impossibly excited Grantaire had bought tickets for mid-January, not knowing that he was, in fact, going to see his partner much sooner than that.

His heart starts racing madly at the realization that he’s just outside the familiar building, the streets covered in a thin layer of snow, and he pulls the brake with a trembling hand, Christmas songs still playing in his head as he gets out of the car, wrapping his coat tightly around him and opens the back door to load his arms with packets and bags. The air is freezing cold, piercing the naked skin of his cheeks and nose, and after taking a deep breath, he makes his way to the elevator.

 _His waiting is over,_ he thinks again and again because it is too good to be true, impossibly perfect a thing to believe, the days they’re going to spend together.

Dropping the packets on the floor of the corridor outside the door of their apartment he stops for a minute, trying to calm his breathing, before raising his gloved finger and ringing the bell of _their_ _home._

He’s here. And it’s happening.

*

He knows that when he has a dozen of friends who burst in his apartment and decorate the fuck out of it just because he didn’t feel like it _and_ they end up granting him with the most beautiful of results, candy canes, poinsettias, oranges and gingerbread men, but also Nutcrackers and glitters and a helluva lot of mistletoe –thanks Courfeyrac and Jehan- the least he can do to thank them and not make their efforts go to waste, is to light the bulbs on the tree every now and then.

It isn’t that he isn’t well. He can do it, he knows he can. He’s going to see him in less than a month, they’re going to be together again and he’ll hold him in his arms and smother him in loving kisses yet right now he’s not in the mood for lights, not really. Not when he’s spending Christmas Eve alone in an apartment that feels so empty without him, having turned down Courfeyrac’s invitation with the excuse of some non-existent family plans. Not when Enjolras isn’t here, not when his mind is full of memories from last Christmas when the apartment was so new and warm and full with laughter and, and they didn’t think they’d have to part again.

And definitely not when all of his muscles are so sore he can hardly move himself to the kitchen, when his throat feels like being set in flames with every effort to swallow and when his head is ready to explode from the pain on his temple and right in his sinuses. No, Grantaire most definitely cannot get up from the couch and turn on the lights right now, or any other light for that matter because it makes his head spin and he hasn’t even had anything to drink, for a change! Grantaire can’t paint or sketch or shamelessly finish _The Song of Achilles_ and choke in his own tears, because for the time being his own throat and congested chest are doing a remarkable job choking him with no effort pulled by him and his emotional instability whatsoever. So Grantaire just sits curled on the couch, watching some silly Christmas classic film in a dark room, the only light coming from the TV, and he’s planning to celebrate Christmas Eve with the company of an aspirin, and maybe have a blast with some cognac, for wholly medical purposes of course.

When he hears the bell ring he immediately assumes it is Courfeyrac and Bahorel who found out there were no family plans after all, and have come to summon him out of his misery, which would be a terribly inconvenient occurrence, considering he’s planning to sit stuck on his seat until the world ends.

Unfortunately it’s a loud sneeze he can’t possibly hold back that gives him away, so he curses through his teeth and drags his aching body up, all snotty and disgusting with a nose that would give Rudolph a run for his money.

He turns the handle of the door and is ready to send anyone it is away as kindly as possible because it _is_ bloody Christmas after all, but then he feels his body freezing at the sight of who is standing on the doorway, all rosy-cheeked and breathtakingly beautiful and _real,_ snowflakes on his nose and eyelashes and a wide smile on his face and eventually Grantaire is convinced that he has a fever, and it is cruelly enough giving him hallucinations.

On his very doorway stands Enjolras, who is _here_ and he is more real than ever, smelling of soap and peppermint and coffee -or at least one with a blocked nose can imagine- radiating the cold weather as he pulls shocked Grantaire for a passionate kiss straight on his chapped lips and the artist knows he’ll probably pass out in the other man’s arms because it’s impossible, it _can’t_ be true, someone’s making fun of him and if that is the case then it is the most horrible, distasteful prank Grantaire has ever been played upon (and trust him he’s seen _a lot_  of pranks) and he’s breathless only apart from the poetic side of the story he’s literally breathless because he can’t breathe through his nose and now that Enjolras is kissing him he can’t breathe through his mouth either and all he can manage to mumble is “Oh my _God_ ” and then a strangled “mmcnt breethe” so Enjolras releases him particularly confused yet still holding him tight in his arms, his eyes shut with longing, and Grantaire hugs him back with his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest which would be a pity because Enjolras’ pea coat was a gift from Courfeyrac and it is very pretty and really expensive and they all had to make a great effort to make their leader keep it just for this once and not sell it in order to give all the money to the homeless.

“Ohgodohmygod you’re back, ohmy _god_ ,” is all that Grantaire can croak with his face buried in Enjolras’ collar and he can’t look properly because his sight is blurred and –

“Shit, Grantaire are you crying?” comes out Enjolras’ shocked voice as he grabs his boyfriend by the shoulders and pulls slightly away to look in his face. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to surprise you… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Grantaire chuckles quietly, in an almost hysterical pace because _Enjolras is here, he’s here and he can touch him –_ “No… I mean yes, don’t worry, my nose is runny it really isn’t your fault but _you’re back,_ and _how?_ ”

“I managed to get a couple of days off and return home for Christmas,” Enjolras says softly, his hands rubbing all over Grantaire’s back through the ugly reindeer jumper he’s tucked into, then pulling him closer to brush a few dark curls away from his forehead and press his lips upon the heated skin. Grantaire shuts his eyes, a serene smile forming on his lips and sighs at the relieving feeling of coolness. “Shit,” he murmurs, “You’re burning up! I only left you for, what-” “Four months,” helps Grantaire, raising an eyebrow a little sarcastically, “and you managed to fuck yourself up!”

“I’m not _dying,_ ” sighs Grantaire, “I’ve just been like this since yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a mess?” asks Enjolras with concern all over his face

“I didn’t want to worry you from a distance, there was no point. It’s just a cold, don’t worry. You’re here now,” Grantaire takes Enjolras’ hands in his own, slowly pulling off the gloves and smiling excitedly despite his red nose and the dark circles surrounding his blue eyes. “And I can’t fucking believe it.”

“You’re right,” Enjolras cracks a smile, leaning closer to pull Grantaire again in his arms, pressing his lips against the warm skin on the curve of his neck. “I’m here, that’s what matters.”

They move to the couch where Grantaire collapses while Enjolras leaves his things on the floor and lights the Christmas tree, standing in the middle of the room to admire the decorations and the atmosphere the dim light reflecting against the red and green ornaments create. “This is beautiful,” he smiles. “Did you do it?”

“This question is highly irrelevant and you know it,” snorts Grantaire, pulling his knees closer to his chest, his eyes always turned on his partner, hungry to stare at him forever as if he’s going to dissolve into thin air. “The others did it for me.”

“I’m glad they take good care of you while I’m away,” mutters Enjolras seriously, walking to the couch after taking off his coat and scarf and taking a seat near Grantaire.

“I’m not an _invalid,_ you know.”

“I know and you know in which way I mean it.” He throws his arms around Grantaire and pulls him closer between his legs. Grantaire’s fingers reach for the red tie of his suit, without which he looks much more comfortable and at home. “I’ve missed them all so much, it feels like years since I last visited,” he mumbles and then reaches to place another kiss on Grantaire’s forehead, his palms cupping the brunet’s scruffy cheeks. “But most of all I’ve missed you.”

Grantaire nods, clearing his sore throat. “I know. It hurts so much sometimes…” He knows that at times like this Enjolras hates himself for ever deciding to leave so he stops and they stay silent for a while, just focusing in each other’s breathing, Grantaire’s head resting on Enjolras’ shoulder as the Christmas movie on the TV goes on. At some point Grantaire almost jumps up, startling Enjolras with his determined yet tired expression. “You really need to get ready. Courf’s party starts in a couple of hours and you’re going to give such a wonderful surprise to them tonight!”

“Do you think you’ll get rid of me so quickly?” Enjolras raises an eyebrow, readjusting his tired body so that his long legs can hang over the couch and Grantaire can rest on his chest. “I do miss them but if you think I’m leaving you tonight then you’re up for a surprise,” he considers the irony of the situation for a few seconds, “a second one.” Grantaire opens his mouth to protest, resulting in a coughing fit through which Enjolras supports him, a soothing hand rubbing his back. When Grantaire manages to catch his breath, tears swelling on his red rimmed eyes, Enjolras cups his face gently and their eyes meet. “Listen to me, R. It was you I came back for and under no circumstances am I leaving you alone on Christmas Eve.”

Grantaire shuts his eyes in guilt. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Enjolras’ voice is a bit louder than usually, seemingly angry with Grantaire’s words. “For being _sick_?”

“You came home for Christmas, expecting parties and people and fun and glorious midnight sex and morning sex and all-the-times-of-the-day sex and instead you have to stay inside on Christmas Eve and do my fucking babysitter…”

“I don’t want parties, Grantaire and there will be enough time for us to _be_ with each other and do the things we wanted to do, but for now all I want is you!” he squeezes Grantaire’s shoulders gently, looking at him with pure tenderness and adoration, so much that Grantaire thinks he’ll melt right in his arms.

“It’s just…” he mumbles, “if I knew you were coming-”

“What?” asks Enjolras, amused. “You wouldn’t get sick? Just keep your gorgeous ass from moving so much so that you can keep your temperature from rising.” He tightens his embrace around Grantaire.

The dark haired man sighs, inevitably ending up coughing harshly again. “I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s the best fucking thing that ever happened in my life.”

“Exaggerating.”

“No, I’m serious!” Grantaire protests hoarsely. “I need to make sure you’re real,” he lowers his voice in what is almost a whisper, his hands stroking Enjolras’ outstretched arm around him. “I can’t stop touching you.”

“Then don’t,” it’s the turn of Enjolras’ eyes to slide shut in bliss.

“That’s not a very good idea,” murmurs Grantaire sleepily, his hand moving from Enjolras’ arm to his shoulder and then to his smooth neck, caressing his soft, rosy cheeks, before resting carded in the golden locks of his hair. “You’ll catch what I have.”

“Too late,” croons Enjolras, “I was eternally doomed the moment I kissed you.”

All that Grantaire can do is groan.            

Grantaire is not the best patient one can have, as he usually is incredibly grumpy and needy, but he’s much better than Enjolras who usually drives his friends to their limits with hissing everytime they try to take care of him. Plus, Grantaire can’t be grumpy today, not when Enjolras was brought here so unexpectedly as a gift of the bloody Christmas fairies or all that Jehan believes in, so he reluctantly allows Enjolras to take his temperature and he slowly sips the apple and cinnamon tea he brings him because it does miracles with his throat, but does not let him call Combeferre, not on Christmas Eve. Grantaire has already deprived Enjolras from going to Courfeyrac’s party and on no account is he going to make Combeferre be late too, for his own sake. Soon the living room is full of open medication boxes –all they could find in the bathroom cabinet, considering that neither of them had ever been really talented in taking care of himself- and used tissues, as well as a couple of finished tea mugs. All that is presumably not the most ideal Christmas decorations, but the living room is already beautiful, lights shining all over the bookcase, creating a beautiful effect with the illuminated covers of the old books, garlands all around the windows and pots with poinsettias that Jehan couldn’t help but bring over. There are lovely scents too, Grantaire knows that even though he can’t smell them. The living room smelt of peppermint and cinnamon when his nose had not yet been blocked a couple of days ago. It’s impossible for either of them to concentrate on the movie anymore, no matter how amusing, easy and predictable the scenario happens to be, Grantaire’s head throbbing and spinning like after the worse of hangovers and Enjolras exhausted by the long trip, yet not exhausted enough to be unable to soothe Grantaire’s pain by gently massaging his scalp and reading to him in a quiet voice, Dickens’ _Bells_ which is his own personal favorite, though less popular than _Christmas Carol._ They are both wrapped in a bundle of warm blankets and Enjolras’ fingers work magic on his aching head, rubbing his temple softly and playing with his tousled mop of dark hair. His voice is mellow and warm as he reads, much softer than the passionate, fervent speeches that always managed to stir the faith in people, even in Grantaire himself, and caused him to fall maddeningly in love with his fierce personality. Grantaire is clingy, terribly so and not ashamed to show it, not only because he is sick but because Enjolras is his own, shared with no friends or job or taken away by distance. After such a long time of being apart, the man’s attentions are wholly turned upon him and every gentle, loving touch, every kiss laid on his head or on the inside of his palm send waves of warmth inside him. After blowing his nose for the millionth time Grantaire lets a small whimper and settles back in Enjolras’ arms like a cuddly kitten. He watches his lover almost deliriously from the fever, the golden halo of curls and his pale skin shining at the dim lights of the tree, his lips wet and soft and red like cranberries and his voice comes out hoarse when he speaks. “Thank you for coming back,” he says. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had, and I’m sorry for being like poo.”

Enjolras chuckles softly, placing a peck on Grantaire’s chapped lips. “You’re beautiful. Even when you are like _poo,"_ he teases.

Grantaire doesn’t have the strength to roll his eyes at the absurdity of Enjolras’ words because his reading and the Christmas tunes coming from the radio which has replaced the TV lull them both, and soon they fall asleep breathing peacefully with their arms wrapped safely around each other and their limbs tangled together under the blankets, sharing the warmth they’ve been deprived of for months.

*

Grantaire wakes up a couple of hours later, groggy, congested and alone in his bed. Everything leads to the terrifying assumption that it has all been a feverish dream, it’s the only logical explanation. People who work abroad especially when one is unlucky enough to love them with a frantic passion, can’t simply apparate back home so easily for Christmas, and even if they do they have family and friends to attend to apart from snotty, drunk boyfriends.

When he raises his eyes and sees Combeferre instead of Enjolras entering the room, dressed in his best formal shirt, looking all groomed and smart with a gentle smile on his face, his fears are confirmed. Enjolras never came. Grantaire simply has a vivid, needy imagination.

But it’s only when Combeferre sits on the edge of his bed and places a mug of what smells like hot chocolate on his bedside, that Enjolras enters the room looking refreshed and gorgeous with his perfect stupid hair and changed shirt, that Grantaire manages to sigh in relief because he’s real and he’s _here._

“We’re all just a phone call away,” Combeferre eyes him seriously behind his spectacles, leaning to press the back of his hand on Grantaire’s forehead. “Why didn’t you let us know you were sick? Were you planning to spend Christmas all alone and miserable?”

“I wouldn’t be alone,” croaks Grantaire with a small cough. “Enjolras came.”

Combeferre turns around to face Enjolras with a brotherly, mischievous yet tender look in his eyes. “He did, didn’t he, the little attention seeking piece of...” he stops himself clearing his throat because that would get entirely out of character, but Grantaire understands. Deep inside the love of his life is indeed a little gorgeous attention seeking piece of fuck that wanted to make an entrance. “And he let all of us thinking we’d spend Christmas without him!”

“I wanted to surprise you all,” snorts Enjolras in mock annoyance, taking a seat on the bed near Combeferre who ruffles his hair affectionately. Grantaire feels relieved at the sound of Combeferre’s words. They mean that Enjolras finally agreed to spend the evening with his friends instead of staying at home and make a disgusting smelly man tea. At the same time though Grantaire feels a tiny pang inside him: he had really believed they were going to spend the night together.

“And surprise us you did,” Combeferre nods in an almost proud manner before turning to Grantaire. “Now, Enjolras tells me you’ve been coughing?”

“Enjolras,” hisses Grantaire, shooting the innocent looking man a murderous glare, “promised to not disturb any of you since it was Courfeyrac’s Christmas party tonight and I wasn’t fucking _dying_.”

“It’s only Ferre,” murmurs Enjolras soothingly, taking Grantaire’s warm hand in his own and rubbing his skin with his thumb. “He won’t lose the party, he just dropped by to look you over and help me cook something for the two of us and then he’ll go find the others!”

Grantaire feels terribly confused with the constant change of plans and the fact that now they’re declaring he’s going that Enjolras is going to have dinner with him is so overwhelming that he doesn’t protest when Combeferre feels his throat with his fingers, and doesn’t even feel startled when he shoves a thermometer through his lips. “Won’ you go to Cou’ferac’s?” he asks his partner who rolls his eyes.

“Can’t you just be still for a minute? Then you can have some chocolate.”

So Grantaire lets them take his temperature because Combeferre’s hot chocolate is potentially in the top five list of the best things in the universe and then he willingly opens his mouth for Combeferre to frown at his throat as the ritual suggests. The doctor seems satisfied enough with what he sees and informs them it just happens to be flu season –and his experience assures him that Enjolras has already caught it, which leads to a display of the blonde’s utter annoyance- and then Grantaire can finally claim his sweet, steamy prize –with cream on top. 

“Do you think you can be relocated to the living room?” asks Enjolras, standing up from the bed and peeking in his open suitcase for one of his best jumpers. “We should better have dinner before it goes cold.”

“Of course I can go to the living room,” Grantaire snorts and coughs at the same time. “Just don’t expect me to eat anything, it’s absolutely impossible.”

“You need to eat something, R,” says Combeferre. “We made soup together with the turkey, it’ll be easier to swallow!”

They all move to the living room which appears to be even more decorated than before, illuminated and warm, a cheerful fire crackling in the fireplace. Soft Christmas jazz music is playing on the radio and Grantaire can’t help but give an admiring tone to his sneezes.

“You two did all that?” Something is going terribly wrong here. Is he  _actually_ dying after all and not know it yet? Before he was even able to get a cat?

“Well,” Combeferre exclaims in an unusual, almost amused manner in his voice. “I’m afraid I should leave you two alone. The others are waiting for me. I’m sorry you can’t join us tonight, R.”

Grantaire shrugs his shoulders. Even though he actually finds himself sorry for that too, he won’t even dream of protesting for spending the night with Enjolras and things are slightly confusing right now.

Everything happens very quickly after that. Combeferre stands on the door and places his hand on the handle. “Merry Christmas,” he smiles to the both of them and Grantaire understands that he doesn’t want to hug him before he leaves when he’s sick, but won’t he even hug Enjolras whom he hasn’t seen for months?

And just then Combeferre opens the door, and Grantaire’s jaw falls slack as their friends start shouting “Merry Christmas!” all of them falling on Enjolras to suffocate him in their hugs and kisses, Jehan, Cosette and Joly unable to hold their happy tears –or maybe the latter’s are just tears of horror for being in the same room with Grantaire right now but that shows the love his friends bear for him- and then the attention turns to Grantaire and his red nose, wrapping him with garlands and Santa’s hats and smothering him in love and Grantaire simply can’t speak because not only did Enjolras come home for Christmas.

His friends also brought the Christmas party home for _him._

“Did you think we’d leave you all alone you red-nosed scruffy-cheek?” cries Courfeyrac who is in a pair of reindeer horns and a sweater with Christmas lights before jumping on Enjolras again, and Grantaire doesn’t even bother that his ears buzz painfully at the noise. Bahorel hits him friendly on the back _God why is his cookie red sweater so tight?_ shouting MERRY CHRISTMAS BUTTHEAD and almost breaking him in two, as for Éponine, she lovingly attacks him in that way that always scares the shit out of Enjolras. Jehan with Cosette hug him without minding him having a cold, in their self-knitted poinsettia jumpers –only Cosette’s is actually green and red while Jehan’s… let’s say it’s set in a color reversed Christmas universe with a base of purple, polka dots and glitter. Marius and Joly are both very affectionate but do still keep a reserved distance –it’s impossible for Bossuet in his pink earmuffs to not literally jump on Grantaire and hand him a bottle of wine- and Feuilly, oh _Feuilly_ with Combeferre and Musichetta have made all this wonderful Christmas meal which they bring in trays and saucepans covered in towels and God this is _beautiful_ and then the sweets, oh the _sweets_ Cosette and Jehan and Bahorel have made, cookies and chocolate logs and pudding, all the eggnog and the fruit cakes and the bloody peppermint mousse that apparently is the best cure for a cold. Grantaire can’t even laugh in excitement because he’s sneezing so hard but it doesn’t matter, _it doesn’t matter_ because it’s the best Christmas in the world and after they sit down and eat, forgetting everything about having a fever, and hear their friends singing carols in the most terrifying voices possible –apart from Feuilly and Musichetta; it’s _always_ Feuilly and Musichetta-, they sit on the couch and Enjolras squeezes his hand and kisses his cheek and all he can do is thank his luck for what has been brought to him. It only gets better when he apologizes for already having mailed Enjolras’ present which will probably be on its way right now and, as if it couldn’t get any more cliché, the man leans in his ear and whispers “I got what I wanted this Christmas.”

Their friends are soon all excited over the mistletoe hanging around the living room and Jehan softly nudges Enjolras’ shoulder. “Take him inside,” he says softly, gesturing to a half sleeping, drooling Grantaire who eventually opens his eyes and dizzily follows Enjolras in their bedroom, shutting the party in the living room out of the door.

They lie in bed together, foreheads entwined, wearing tired, blissful smiles on their faces. It is still snowing outside, so much that their friends might need to crash on the sofas for the night which is more than an excellent idea, especially for Enjolras who’s missed them all so much. But for now all that they care about, between dreams and reality, is their lips which are softly meeting together, taking their time to memorizing each other, every taste and every inch of their skin. “I’ve missed you,” murmurs Enjolras, shutting his eyes and stretching his arms around Grantaire, pulling him closer.

“I’ve missed you too,” the dark haired man breathes. “I love you so much. Thank you for coming home.”

Their friends are laughing outside and from the sound of it they’re probably getting some kissing action. Christmas music is still playing distantly and the room is dark apart from a line of Christmas lights that makes their eyes glow. Enjolras smiles serenely. He’ll be gone for one more time in a few days but soon they’ll be together again and right now all that matters is his warm breath brushing against his skin, their clasped hands and his voice which lulls Grantaire to sleep.

_Merry Christmas._

And Merry it shall be.


End file.
